In the heart of North-Western Zambia, a forgotten truth about power and justice has once again reared its head. Mufumbwe, a district not often in the headlines, recently became the centre of a tragic and revealing gold rush. It started as a spark of hope: villagers stumbled upon gold, the very resource that global empires have fought over for centuries. But instead of empowerment, celebration, or organized opportunity, the discovery brought fear, death, and destruction. And it exposed a brutal reality: in many parts of Africa, the moment local people discover wealth beneath their feet, they are no longer owners of their land. They become criminals.
The recent Mufumbwe gold rush did not trigger a national development plan, nor did it attract mining investors looking to engage local entrepreneurs. Instead, it invited heavily armed police officers, destruction of local property, confiscation of equipment, and in heartbreaking cases, loss of lives. Those who dared to extract resources from their ancestral land were declared “illegal miners.” Their crime? Daring to dream. Daring to work. Daring to hope.
And herein lies the irony: when poverty pushes people to innovate, hustle, or extract value from the ground they inherited, the very state that should protect them responds with punishment. Not reform. Not inclusion. Not empowerment. But punishment.
Power, Hypocrisy, and Selective Justice
Why is it that when elites extract wealth, often secretly, through underhand deals with foreign mining giants it is called “investment”? But when locals do it in broad daylight, in their own backyard, it’s labelled a “security risk”?
The truth is chilling. In many African countries, law is not always about justice, it is often a tool of control. In Zambia, we’ve seen it over and over: when powerful people commit crimes, their punishment is reshuffling. A minister caught misusing funds isn’t arrested; he’s quietly transferred to another ministry. A well-connected official accused of corruption isn’t imprisoned; he’s retired in the “national interest.” But when an ordinary youth in Mufumbwe picks up a shovel to mine a rock from his own land, he is labelled a criminal and treated as a national threat.
Is this justice? Or is this the selective violence of a system that protects the powerful and punishes the powerless?
The Forgotten Role of CEEC and CDF
Zambia boasts of progressive structures such as the Citizens Economic Empowerment Commission (CEEC) and the Constituency Development Fund (CDF), institutions designed to support grassroots innovation and community-driven development. These are not just budget lines; they are tools of transformation. But what good are these structures if they fail to activate when communities are in urgent need?
In the Mufumbwe case, why didn’t CEEC intervene to organize and support the miners? Why wasn’t CDF used to formalize local cooperatives, supply safety equipment, train youths in mineral safety, and create jobs? Why were bulldozers and boots on the ground faster than policies and partnerships?
These are not rhetorical questions. They are moral indictments.
Instead of criminalizing local activity, the government had an opportunity, an obligation, to step in, help the people register a local mining cooperative, offer technical training, regulate extraction safely, and turn this gold rush into a gold rise.
The Youth: Hustlers, Heroes or Criminals?
The youth of Zambia are often told to “innovate,” to “create employment,” to “avoid dependency.” But what happens when they do exactly that? In Mufumbwe, young people, fuelled by survival and entrepreneurship, decided not to wait for white-collar jobs that may never come. They found a resource and mobilized. That energy should be celebrated but instead, it was silenced with boots, bullets, and beatings.
How can the same government that launches youth empowerment programs be the same that destroys youth-built engines, burns their generators, and tears down their tents? The same youth we are trying to “save” are the ones we are punishing into poverty.
If we continue this pattern, we will kill more than just miners, we will kill the spirit of African innovation.
Crime and Punishment in Africa: A History of Double Standards
Mufumbwe is not the first. Across the continent, this story repeats itself in different accents. In South Africa, informal miners are branded “zama zamas” criminals. In Nigeria, artisanal miners in Zamfara are chased by police while illegal gold is exported by politically connected cartels. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, communities are violently displaced for mining projects run by foreign companies.
In each case, the punishment of the poor contrasts sharply with the protection of the powerful.
The lesson? Power immunizes people from consequences. Poverty amplifies them.
If a minister hoards public funds, the worst that might happen is suspension or reassignment. If a youth mines without a license, he may be killed. Where’s the justice in that?
A Call for Real Change
Instead of punishment, Zambia, and Africa must begin seeing these moments as opportunities for inclusion. If people mine “illegally,” perhaps it’s because there’s no clear, simple legal path for them to follow. If locals lack licenses, perhaps it’s because the licensing system is designed for corporations not communities.
Let us reimagine this.
Let the CEEC deploy mobile registration centres and mining safety workshops.
Let CDF funds support mining cooperatives, not just roads and boreholes.
Let law enforcement protect people, not brutalize them.
Let local chiefs and communities be part of the mineral development process, not victims of it.
Let youths work with dignity, not hide like criminals.
This is not just about gold. It’s about justice. It’s about vision. It’s about dignity.
Africa Must Stop Criminalizing Its People
What happened in Mufumbwe is a crime of governance, not just a misunderstanding. It is a punishment of poverty. It is a brutal reminder that in Africa, many people are punished not for breaking the law, but for being born without power. We must change this.
Let us advocate for systems that recognize the intelligence, resourcefulness, and worth of local communities. Let us make “discovery” a doorway to empowerment, not incarceration. Let us ensure that punishment is not a weapon of politics, but a tool of justice.
Until then, the next Mufumbwe is just a sunrise away. Because here lies the truth: when youth are not busy building, they are busy burning. Unemployment is not just a number; it is the seedbed of junkies, the playground of crime, and the deathbed of potential.
Let me remind you, it’s not just about Mufumbwe. Africa is bleeding from its borders to its bellies. From Nigeria’s oil fields to Congo’s cobalt, from Sudan’s gold to Ghana’s bauxite, our people discover riches, and suddenly the law arrives, not as a protector, but as a predator. Because in Africa, wealth in the hands of the poor is considered suspicious. Prosperity must wear a suit and speak English.
By Mufuzi Nawa